Petrichor
by bourbonandlace
Summary: A slightly dark, AU take on Penny's backstory. I have no idea. Penny and Sheldon at the end; Sheldon/Penny if you stand on your head. Warnings for implied child abuse and non-major character death.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Once upon a time, I was listening to the radio, and I heard Carrie Underwood's "Blown Away." I'm not even a Carrie Underwood fan, but immediately my head started building this story. It's a bit dark and definitely an AU take on Penny's backstory. I have no idea how this happened.**

"And two slices of apple pie," Penny announced, placing the plates on the table with a flourish.

Mrs. Walsh smiled at her. "Thank you, dear."

Penny wiped her hands on her apron. "Can I get you guys anything else?"

"No, thank you, dear," Mrs. Walsh replied.

"Have a piece of pie on us," Mr. Walsh urged.

Penny smiled and patted his shoulder. "Thank you, Mr. Walsh, but you know I can't."

"Shame," he said with a soft smile.

"I'll be back to check on you guys soon," she promised.

In the back of the diner, she found Sandra leaning on the counter, head cocked toward the radio. Her stillness drew Penny's attention.

"What's going on?" she asked quietly.

"We may have to close up early," Sandra told her, still focused on the radio. "They're calling for tornadoes this evening."

"This is _Nebraska_," Penny emphasized. "They're always calling for tornadoes."

Sandra shook her head. "S'posed to get bad. We'll close up early this evening, make sure everyone gets home."

Penny nodded. "Sure." Internally, she winced, recalculating her check for that week, with the fewer hours and loss of dinner and late night tips. It would be a tight couple of weeks, and the electric and water bills were coming up due.

An hour later, Penny was beginning to see Sandra's point of view. The sky outside was clouding up, and the air held the charged, restrained energy that came before especially bad storms. The diner was quickly clearing even of afternoon regulars, and Sandra had started to send home some of the staff.

One of the line cooks, Connor, bumped into her on his way past her out the door. She bit her lip to keep from crying out; he'd bumped right into her freshest bruises, high on her upper arm.

"You okay there, Pen?" he asked, hand on her forearm.

"Yeah." She forced a smile. "Be safe out there."

"You, too."

Ten minutes later, Sandra was shooing Penny out the door before following her out and locking it behind her. Penny paused with her under the awning. "You gonna make it home okay, Pen?"

Penny nodded. "Yeah, you know it isn't far."

"Shoot me a text and let me know you made it okay, all right?"

"Sure thing." With that, she darted toward her car amid the first droplets of rain.

She had just slammed the door shut when the sky opened, pouring buckets on buckets of rain out. Swearing, Penny started the car.

The radio screeched with the weather alert. _"Repeat, if you are in the Omaha area, please seek shelter immediately. There are reports of tornadoes on the ground across Douglas county."_

Penny pressed a heavy foot on the gas pedal, ignoring the flash of lightning and the thunder that followed quickly on its heels. The sky had taken on that greenish cast that told her to prepare for the worst.

The car lurched over a pothole and she gasped, gritting her teeth against the sudden pain that shot through her back. She still hadn't recovered from three nights prior; as of earlier that afternoon, it had still hurt to pee, though thankfully there wasn't any more blood in her urine. If that had kept up, she was going to have to go to the doctor for sure, and she wasn't sure what she would have told them.

She ignored the pain as she bounced down the long gravel driveway; the house was just in sight. Which was a good thing, she thought grimly, as the winds were picking up. She could hear the alert sirens howling outside, battling against the repeated warnings on the radio for her attention. She parked as close to the house as she could, taking a deep breath as she shut off the ignition.

She ran to the side door, but it didn't help; she was soaked practically to the skin before she got halfway there. The knob turned easily in her hand and she spilled inside with the rain.

_All right, Penny. Just grab your bag and get to the cellar. _

She ran down the hall, intentionally not focusing on the increased volume of the wind, the tone of it taking on that freight train sound that made her blood run cold. Wind whipped through the house, bringing the smell of the rain; somewhere, a window was open. Thunder shook the house. This storm was _close,_ and it was going to be bad.

In her room, she grabbed her backpack from her closet. She kept it stocked with a few essentials in case of emergency—flashlight, spare clothes, a water bottle, hairbrush and toothbrush—and, quickly, she shoved a few more things in it. A notebook, the battery-powered alarm clock from beside her bed, laptop and its cord, her cell phone charger. Dropping to lay on her stomach, she reached under the bed, feeling along the underside of the mattress until she found the envelope that was taped there. She ripped it down and added that to the backpack. She glanced around the room, wondering what she'd forgotten.

Her eyes fell on the framed photo on the nightstand. It was a picture of her mother, happy, laughing, holding toddler-Penny, about five years before she had died. Penny stared at it for a split second longer before grabbing it and shoving it in the bag, too.

Running back down the hall, a sound from the living room caught her attention. She slowed, peeking around the corner.

Her dad was sprawled on the couch, face down, snoring. The source of the sound, she saw, were the beer cans that clattered around on the floor, stirred by the wind shrieking through the screen in the open window.

Penny took two steps toward him, drawing a deep breath. How on earth was she going to get him up and off the couch, let alone outside and down the stairs into the cellar?

He twitched suddenly, shifting his weight on the couch. Something else banged to the floor. In the dim, her eyes focused.

His belt.

Her face twisted and she stood, frozen. Lightning flashed outside, and still she didn't move.

Thunder cracked, and the house shook violently.

Penny ran out of the room.

It was a fight to get the cellar door open in the wind, but she managed. She fought harder to get it closed again, but she managed that, too. She threw the bolt that kept it closed.

She sagged against the door for a minute, feeling heavy. The wind rattled the door in its frame and she scrambled away from it, down the stairs.

There were chairs down here, folding canvas camping chairs, used mostly for occasions such as this, and little else. Shaky, she sat in the nearest, ignoring the bent leg, dropping her backpack to the ground next to her. There was a blanket folded in the next chair over and she grabbed it, draping it over her as she curled her knees toward her chest.

Outside, the storm rattled, and shrieked, and banged on the door of the cellar. Once or twice, she thought she heard it call her name, frightened and angry and desperate. She turned the volume up on the little clock radio, listening to the weather man describe the progress of the storm.

It felt like years, but it was only a handful of long minutes before the worst of it passed. The rain pattered more gently against the cellar door. From her back pocket, Penny felt her phone buzz.

It was a text from Sandra. _You make it okay, kiddo?_

_Yes,_ Penny typed back. _I'm safe._

* * *

"Penny," Sheldon said, his voice verging on a whine as he shifted back and forth uneasily, his eyes darting between the black clouds on the horizon. "The storm is getting quite close. We should go inside." His hand reached for the stairwell door, almost as if he were unaware of it.

Penny leaned on her hands on the roof's ledge. Her eyes closed and a smile lingered on her face, lit by a flash of lightning. "I love the smell of the rain," she murmured. The thunder rumbled in the distance, and she opened her eyes, looking back at Sheldon over her shoulder. "Don't you?"


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: So I was totally done with this story when I posted the first part of it. But then I wasn't done, so here's this little follow up. This is the end for this fic, though. At least as far as I know right now.**

Outside, the storm was picking up speed, the lightning and thunder coming closer and faster on one another. Inside, Penny and Sheldon were in their respective spots on her couch. _Firefly _played on the television, the episode where Mal unintentionally declared a duel. He had seen it enough times that his mind was wandering, only paying attention to the plot with half his focus. Penny had a blanket draped over her, and her feet were slowly but surely encroaching onto Sheldon's cushion. He pretended not to notice.

"Penny," Sheldon said suddenly.

"Hm?" Penny's eyes were glued to the TV, though her feet did inch closer.

"You rearranged your living room."

"What?" She glanced at him for a second, an odd look. "Sweetie, no, I didn't. Your spot hasn't moved at all."

"I am aware of that. Perhaps I should have said, 'Penny, you have changed your décor.'" He nodded to the framed photo on the end table behind her, the one that had been troubling him all evening.

Previously, that table had held a vanilla scented candle in a jar, a framed collage of photos of their friends, and, usually, at least one dirty glass that he would wash and put away. Tonight, the candle remained, and he had already washed the two glasses that had been sitting there—one had remnants of orange juice, and the other white wine—but the photo collage had been replaced. In its place was a framed 8x10 photo he'd never seen before. It showed a young, thin blonde woman, beaming down at the golden-haired toddler, unsteady on her feet, who latched onto her hands.

Penny's face was soft as she reached for the photograph. She gazed at it for a moment before pausing the television.

"This is my mom and me," she explained, somewhat unnecessarily. Of course he'd already noted the similarities between the woman in the photo and the woman across the couch from him: her stature, the shape of Penny's jaw and mouth, the color of her hair and eyes.

"She passed away a few years after this picture was taken," Penny explained further. "It's one of the only pictures I have of us."

"What happened?" Sheldon immediately bit his lip; he hadn't meant to ask that. He'd known, of course, for years, that both of Penny's parents were deceased, but he had never known how it happened, and whenever he had wondered, a firm voice in his head that sounded an awfully lot like Meemaw assured him it would be rude to ask.

Penny's face changed in a subtle way he wasn't sure how to quantify. If he were given to colorful descriptions, he might say it clouded over. Inaccurate, of course, but evocative of what occurred.

"It was an accident," she told him quietly. "She'd been in the barn, and she fell out of the loft and got hurt. My dad said by the time he found her and called an ambulance, she was already dead."

"Were you not home?"

She shook her head. "No. I was visiting my grandparents. I was only seven then."

They were quiet a moment, Penny staring at the photo in her hands, Sheldon staring at Penny. When she reached for the remote to start the show again, Sheldon stopped her, his hand resting on top of hers.

"What happened to your father?"

She hesitated. "Died in a storm. Tornado. It leveled half our house."

"That must have been frightening."

She squeezed his hand. "I made it to the cellar. I was safe."

Sheldon held her gaze, frank and honest as it was, and thought he understood. He nodded. "I'm…glad."

She smiled at him. "Me, too."

Penny scooted closer, shifting so she could rest her head on Sheldon's shoulder. He reached for the remote and pressed play, Captain Mal's swordfight once again swinging into action before them.

As Penny shared her blanket with him, Sheldon put away the rest of his questions.

The most important thing was that Penny was safe.


End file.
